


Cloudbursts

by oisugasuga



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 14:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9239075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oisugasuga/pseuds/oisugasuga
Summary: "You have me, Koushi," he says, firmly, unwavering, heartbreakingly sincere, no room for anything but love in his voice.Suga nods once more.And then he lets the tears fall freely, lets them drop and tumble and tremble on the edges of his eyelashes like cloudbursts, like the rain against the window.





	

Suga takes a deep breath and stares.

 

The same face that has stared back at him his entire life is there, reflected in the mirror, sterling hair and light hazel eyes and that tiny white scar near his mouth from receiving a volleyball to the face back in high school.

 

The familiarity settles him a little, his fingers relaxing at his sides, the tight string of his shoulders loosening just a little.

 

He looks to the right, his hands clutching the edge of the table he’s leaning against, looks out the pane of glass at the glimmering, shining, bright colors and lights spread out below him, the hot pinks and the teal blues and the amethyst purples, the skyscrapers and buildings of Tokyo rising up from the ground like glass flowers with translucent petals, the people bustling along the street below under a sea of multi-colored umbrellas.

 

Suga looks up at the night sky, at the moon and the stars hidden by dark clouds, the promise of rain thrumming through the air, and sighs.

 

He should be bubbling over with excitement, giddy with joy, love struck and hopelessly dazed by it.

 

And he is. He’s all of those things and more.

 

But underneath it all, dampening the skip his heart still gives whenever he sees the glint of the engagement ring on his finger and the smile he’s flashed a million times today whenever someone claps him on the back and says, "Today’s the big day!", is the lingering whisper of trepidation, of being afraid of something Suga had thought he’d moved on from a long time ago.

 

It hovers and muddles everything else, like rain falling outside his window, smudging lines and smearing colors.

 

Suga stares just a bit longer at his reflection, at the sharp cut of his ink-black tux and the shimmer of his emerald tie, his hair styled just enough by Asahi earlier to look effortlessly and artfully messy, and then shakes his head, berating himself inwardly.

 

This is his wedding day, to someone he’s given his entire heart to however shattered and taped together it is, to someone he trusts and adores and wants to spend the rest of his life with.

 

And yet, today of all days, today, the day he’s supposed to be his happiest, his sharp-clawed doubts and glass-edged memories have decided to reappear, to grow like flowers in his stomach, up, up, up, until they’re blooming inside his ribcage and crawling up his throat, choking him.

 

It’s all because of before.

 

Suga’s been here before. He’s worn the tux, he’s worn the engagement ring, he’s swallowed down pre-wedding jitters and smiled as arms encircled him and congratulations were whispered in his ear.

 

But last time had ended before it could even begin.

 

Last time had been an empty altar, had been Asahi looking at him with something Suga didn’t want to see in his eyes, had been the hush of whispering that had rippled over the crowd that had been deafening, that had sent Suga tripping over his own feet to get away from the looks and the words and the undeniable truth.

 

It hadn’t been the first time Suga’s world had been tipped upside down, thrown into chaos and tears and a horrible, ugly emptiness that seemed to fill Suga’s stomach and leave nothing but blank, white space.

 

No, the first time had involved an empty home instead, a fleeting memory of graceful hands and a kind smile and perfume that smelled like lavender and silver hair just like his, had ended with yelling and shouting and a suitcase by the front door and his grandmother’s hands on his shoulders, warm and lined with age, and then nothing, nothing for the next twenty-five years, nothing even now.

 

His father had left before he was born, his mother had gone before he could remember what it felt like to hear her laugh, and Suga had held onto sharp-edged fragments of fragile memories until his fingers had bled.

 

Suga has known the word abandonment, has tasted it on his tongue, not bitter like he would have expected but more sickeningly, saccharinely sweet, has spent countless hours wondering why, why didn’t they stay, what did I do wrong, am I not good enough, why, why, why, until he had stopped asking, had stopped punishing himself, had learned to forgive but not completely forget, had moved on with his life and found someone who planted new flowers in his ribs, their delicate petals unfurling close to his heart and dripping solar systems into his stomach instead.

 

Suga smiles a little to himself, thinks of the past five years, thinks of first dates, of spilt coffee and nervous laughter, of text messages during work and nights spent curled up on the couch, of careful, soft, loving words that slowly, slowly removed the glass stuck in Suga’s heart and of hidden, secret moments that only encompassed the two of them below bedsheets with the soft pitter patter of rain against the windows, thinks of stargazing on clear nights and laughing in the kitchen and the soft brush of fingers against his wrist or the warmth of an arm around his waist.

 

He thinks of the night the question had been asked with trembling fingers and another countless alien movie playing in the background, a ring produced from a pocket and the remnants of dinner scattered across the kitchen table they shared, thinks of tears and his own breathless answer and then a kiss that had set his head spinning, laughter, arms locked around a ribcage full of flowers, eyes reflecting every star in the universe.

 

The memories, these new ones he’s built over the years and held close to his heart, loosen the tightness of his chest, leave a warmth next to his heart, like another one is sitting alongside his, beating in tandem.

 

Suga gives himself one last glance, straightens his tie and his spine, and turns to grab some water from the mini-fridge.

 

There’s a knock on the room door at the same time that Suga unscrews the cap on the ridiculously-priced bottle, and then a voice that he’d recognize anywhere, in any circumstance, anytime, a voice that holds so many different meanings for him, that never fails to send a thrum through his veins, no matter how many times he’s heard it.

 

"Kou-chan," Oikawa sing-songs through the door, Suga setting the bottle down on a table and moving to lean against the doorframe, a smile playing around his mouth, "it’s your dashing husband-to-be. I finally gave Iwa-chan the slip. You wouldn’t believe how good he is at mind-reading."

 

Suga laughs a little, wants to look through the peephole in the door, the itch to see his fiancé, especially now, tingling through his fingertips, but he doesn’t, just says, "I think he’s just known you and your antics for too long, Tooru."

 

Oikawa makes a sound of indignation and even without seeing his face, Suga knows he’s pouting, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes sparkling with poorly-concealed mischief.

 

"Rude, Kou-chan, especially on our wedding day."

 

The words send a jolt through Suga, his heart thumping hard against his ribcage, warmth blooming in his cheeks.

 

When Oikawa doesn’t receive a reply, he taps on the door again.

 

"Kou-chan, you okay?" he asks, voice more serious, gentler, and Suga clears his throat.

 

"Yeah," he answers, aiming for carefree, for laid back, for assurance, but Oikawa’s known him too long, they’ve both known each other for too many years to miss the little things anymore, the slightest pause before speaking, the barest hesitation to smile, to say, "I’m fine," and hope the other doesn’t notice.

 

Suga knows Oikawa had sensed something was wrong the moment Suga had spoken, despite how light-hearted his voice would’ve sounded to others.

 

Oikawa’s voice gets closer, as if he’s leaning against the other side of the door, his forehead pressed to the wood and his hand on the doorknob.

 

"Koushi, let me in," he says, and Suga scolds himself silently for not hiding his insecurities more, for letting them overshadow the atmosphere not only for himself, but now for Oikawa as well.

 

"I thought we agreed that we weren’t going to see each other until the ceremony," Suga tries, laughing a little and hearing it fall flat.

 

"I changed my mind," Oikawa counters, and Suga’s fingers twitch to open the door, to let him in so that Suga can fall apart and have someone there to hold him together.

 

But still he hesitates.

 

Today isn’t meant for tears or doubts or rain splashing against the window.

 

Maybe he can convince Oikawa that he’s okay if he just tries hard enough, if he just pushes away that voice in the back of his head that’s telling him to open the door already, that it’s okay to be vulnerable.

 

Suga knows that already, knows that it’s better to face his shortcomings and his insecurities, that it’s okay to let someone else see them too.

 

Oikawa had taught him that, had given Suga something else to associate the rain with, something that was bright and warm and that turned the raindrops into glittering, incandescent stars that left luminescent tracks in their wake, in their path down the glass.

 

"Koushi."

 

Oikawa’s voice breaks through Suga’s thoughts, leaves him waiting, holding his breath, his fingers curled into a white-knuckled grip inside his pockets.

 

"Koushi, please, open the door," Oikawa continues, his voice open, nothing hidden, when he says, "I love you."

 

Suga fingers automatically fly to the door handle, his skin meeting cold metal and then tightening around it and pulling, pulling, pulling until the door swings open and Oikawa is there, right in front of him.

 

Oikawa breathes an audible sigh of relief, his eyes immediately latching onto Suga’s face and his expression, a wobbly smile and fleeting gaze, and then he’s taking one step, two steps, into the room, and Suga lets himself be pulled into his arms, lets Oikawa kick the door shut behind him and breathe against his forehead, gathering him close, close, closer until Suga can see nothing but darkness as he shuts his eyes and leans against him, can smell nothing but Oikawa’s cologne and the scent of black tea that always seemed to linger on his skin, so different from the floral, light scent of lavender.

 

"Koushi, did something happen?" Oikawa asks against the top of his head, his fingers tracing soothing circles into Suga’s sides, one hand leaving to tilt Suga’s face up, his palm sliding to cradle the side of his face.

 

Suga lets his eyes open, looks at the features he’s grown to know as well as his own, the sharp jaw and the graceful line of his nose and the dark brown eyes that Suga thinks he can sometimes see the universe in.

 

"You do look dashing," Suga says, attempting nonchalance one last time but also speaking truthfully, drinking in the sight of Oikawa dressed in his own charcoal tux and jade bow-tie, his hair styled not much differently from its usual look, the edges of his suit outlining long legs and strong shoulders.

 

Oikawa smiles a little at that, brushes Suga’s bangs back from his forehead and then holds him out at arm’s length.

 

"Still not as beautiful as you, love," he answers, the back of Suga’s neck prickling with warmth at the endearment, one of many that Oikawa drops all of the time, even when he’s not really thinking about it.

 

Oikawa doesn’t keep him there for long, pulls him back in and lets Suga rest his cheek against his chest, the strong, steady beat of his heart against his ear, comforting, calming, runs fingers through Suga’s hair and kisses his forehead and waits for Suga to speak.

 

"I love you, Tooru," Suga says first, after he’s stilled the fluttering of his heart and loosened the grip he has on the back of Oikawa’s jacket a fraction, feels Oikawa’s answering hum and the brush of his fingertips over the sensitive skin at the back of his neck.

 

He’s said it before, countless times, whispered it, cried it, said it in the morning and at night and against Oikawa’s collarbones, in the kitchen, on the street, in the middle of a kiss, sleepily or mindlessly, but he wants to say it now, before he says anything else, wants Oikawa to know, needs Oikawa to know, that none of this stems from anything he’s done, that Suga isn’t at all unsure about today.

 

"It’s stupid," Suga says next, and Oikawa immediately pulls back again, looks down at him with seriousness and sincerity darkening his eyes and shakes his head, rubs a thumb over the skin under Suga’s left eye.

 

"You know that’s not true," he says, waits for Suga to meet his gaze again.

 

Suga swallows, tries to think of words he can put together to get his feelings across, tries to string together periods and commas and semi-colons into something useful inside his brain that just keeps replaying images of a different wedding, of a note with a gold band holding it down that he had read once and had crumpled up in a tight fist and then had smoothed out and read again and again and again, of birthdays where he had waited and hoped that maybe, this year, maybe there would be a card or a letter or something for him.

 

"Koushi, if you’re not ready for this, I won’t be angry or push you to-," Oikawa starts, the furrow in his brow deepening with concern at his fiancé’s silence, nothing but patience and acceptance threaded through his words, but Suga stops him from saying anything else quickly, tiptoeing up and pressing their mouths together.

 

Oikawa makes a small sound of surprise, the rest of his sentence lost in it, but he recovers quickly, kisses Suga back, gently, sweetly, hard enough to leave Suga breathless when he pulls back a moment later, words on the tip of his tongue.

 

"I want this," Suga says, his tone holding no room for uncertainty, firm and unwavering. "I want to marry you today, no matter what."

 

Oikawa flushes just the slightest bit, clouds of cerise staining his pale skin, high on his cheeks.

 

Suga takes a deep breath, reaches up to cup Oikawa’s jaw.

 

"I trust you completely and fully, and I love you more than I can comprehend sometimes, so don’t think for a second that I’m unsure about today. It’s just that this," Suga pauses, feels the warm slide of Oikawa’s fingers tangling with his free hand, sees the shine of Oikawa’s eyes and his mouth open as if he’s going to interrupt before he decides not to, "all of this, reminds me of everything from before I met you."

 

Oikawa squeezes his hand and Suga continues on, the words spilling from his mouth easier now.

 

"I know we talked about all of it before, and I felt like I had put it behind me for good, but it was just like all of the memories came rushing back as soon as I found myself alone. I’ve been so caught up in the whirlwind of planning everything and being so happy I couldn’t think straight, and I didn’t want to worry you today of all days-"

 

"Koushi, shhh, it’s okay," Oikawa says, interrupting Suga’s rambling and brushing a stray strand of hair from his cheek with so much tenderness that Suga feels like crying.

 

His eyes grow wet, but Oikawa is speaking, saying, "Come here," , placing a hand over the one Suga still has against his face, disentangling the fingers of his other hand from Suga’s to wrap his arm around Suga’s waist and walk backwards until he’s sitting on the hotel room bed with Suga standing between his legs.

 

Like this Suga is eye-level with him, and Oikawa cups his face with warm hands, leans forward to bump their noses together.

 

"First," he starts, keeping his gaze on Suga, their foreheads brushing, his hair tickling Suga’s skin, "you know I don’t ever want you to hide your worries from me, no matter what day it is."

 

He waits for Suga to nod before continuing.

 

"Second," Oikawa says, tucking a lock of Suga’s hair behind his ear, "I know without a doubt that Sawamura was, and still is, an absolute fool for leaving you. I know you don’t want me to, but I still hate him for hurting you and I can’t even begin to imagine what he was thinking, but there’s no doubt that he gave up the chance to spend his life with someone who is beautiful and kind and smart and perfect."

 

The first tear finally drops down Suga’s face, falling until it hits the floor, catching the light and winking like a shooting star.

 

"I also know you didn’t grow up with the traditional family," Oikawa says softly, his voice thrumming with something like determination, as if he’s trying to paint the words across Suga’s skin in ink so that they’ll sink through, so that they’ll swirl and bloom in his veins and cover his heart in reassurance. "But you still have a family, one that loves you more than anything. You have your grandparents, Asahi, Noya, Tanaka, Hinata, Kageyama, Kiyoko, Hitoka, Iwaizumi, Makki, Mattsun."

 

Oikawa wipes the second and third tear from Suga’s face before they can fall, presses a quick kiss to his lips and then pulls back a fraction of an inch, stares at him with eyes that are full of stardust and endless space.

 

"You have me, Koushi," he says, firmly, unwavering, heartbreakingly sincere, no room for anything but love in his voice.

 

Suga nods once more.

 

And then he lets the tears fall freely, lets them drop and tumble and tremble on the edges of his eyelashes like cloudbursts, like the rain against the window.

 

Oikawa presses kisses to his eyelids when they flutter shut, kisses his cheeks, his forehead, his chin and the edge of his mouth, quick and desperate to comfort, raises Suga’s hands and brushes his lips over his knuckles, his palms, the insides of both wrists, all the while murmuring, "I love you"’s and endless reassurances, his fingers tangling in Suga’s hair and tugging him closer, closer, closer until they’re mouths meet completely, the taste of salt slowly disappearing with each kiss, until Suga feels nothing but warmth and the heat of Oikawa’s body against him and overwhelming happiness that fills his chest and spills over.

 

Oikawa pulls back some time later, drops a kiss onto the tip of Suga’s nose that leaves him giggling, both of them flushed and rumpled, the buttons of Suga’s jacket undone and Oikawa’s hair mussed beyond repair, but they don’t notice, just stare at each other with matching grins that are so wide it makes their jaws ache.

 

Suga shifts in his position in Oikawa’s lap, rests his head against his chest and ignores the wrinkles in his tux or the fact that the ceremony is in half an hour.

 

Right now, listening to Oikawa breathe against him is the only thing Suga wants to do.

 

The silence, however, is broken a few minutes later by loud knocking on the door and Iwaizumi’s angry voice from out in the hallway, threatening to call Oikawa’s mother if he doesn’t come finish getting ready.

 

Suga grins into Oikawa’s chest, feels Oikawa jump a little beneath him and then groan in frustration, lifts his head and meets Oikawa’s eyes before he leans forward and meets him halfway for one last kiss, lingering and slow, their noses brushing.

 

Everything is warm and hazy, Oikawa running slow fingers up and down Suga’s spine, leaving him arching into the touch, especially when Oikawa angles his head, turns the kiss deeper and different, the drag of teeth and the brush of fingers across the sliver of skin just under the hem of Suga’s shirt when Oikawa loosens it from where it’s tucked into his pants combining to form the first stirrings of heat low in Suga’s stomach.

 

Suga is the first to pull away, breathing hard, disentangling himself from Oikawa’s limbs and standing on slightly weak knees, Oikawa’s hands lingering on his hips, his bow-tie skewed to one side and his eyes half-lidded, darker than usual.

 

"Oikawa, I’m giving you sixty seconds to get out here. I’m your maid of honor- I mean best man damn it."

 

Iwaizumi’s voice filtering through the door cuts through the daze Suga’s stuck in, and Oikawa can’t help but grin and roll his eyes at the same time, the heavy atmosphere in the room giving way to something less blush-inducing, a breath of fresh air that helps Suga reorganize his hazy thoughts.

 

"I told you I’d get him to be the maid of honor," Oikawa says teasingly, keeping his voice low so Iwaizumi doesn’t somehow hear him, and Suga muffles a laugh behind a palm, tries to neaten up Oikawa’s appearance as much as he can when the other stands up as well.

 

They spend a few seconds straightening each other’s clothes and smoothing down unruly strands of hair, and then Oikawa brushes the back of one hand across Suga’s cheek, looks down at him affectionately, says, "I should probably leave before Iwa-chan actually does call my mother, but I’ll see you soon Mr. Soon-to-be Oikawa Koushi."

 

Suga sucks in a breath at the name, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and then flushes all over again.

 

"Don’t call me that yet," he admonishes half-heartedly, looking down at his hands and trying to hide his embarrassment.

 

Oikawa laughs softly, ducks down so that his lips are against Suga’s ear, says, "It can’t be soon enough."

 

And then he’s walking to the door, leaving Suga blushing furiously and sputtering, his voice carrying down the entire hall when he greets Iwaizumi cheerily, followed by a screech of rage from who sounds like Matsukawa and a, "I spent _hours_ on your hair," and then a thump and a pained, "Mean, Iwa-chan!"

 

Suga stares down at the engagement ring on his finger, looks out over the glittering lights of the city before him, and smiles when he sees the first drop of rain hit the window.

**Author's Note:**

> day 2 of oisuga week: family
> 
> honestly, i'm kinda embarrassed by how lovestruck i made this, but these two deserve it, so i really have no excuse ♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ)
> 
> tumblr: come by and say [hi](http://oisugasuga.tumblr.com/)


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